


The Fuck Happened?

by She_Who_Shall_Not_Be_Named



Series: Prompts [2]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Aliens, Delirium, M/M, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 17:52:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1908264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/She_Who_Shall_Not_Be_Named/pseuds/She_Who_Shall_Not_Be_Named
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What can I say? I got offered hot and steamy and aliens and something that happens after having been apart from each other for too long and emotions...</p><p>My mind is a weird place. I know, and you know what? I can totally live with that ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fuck Happened?

**Author's Note:**

> So happy to say my writers block is gone! For those of you following Clusterfuck Reinvented, the new update will be up there soon!

Sound. Sound is what wakes him up in the first place. He cannot figure out what exactly it is he's hearing, it's somewhat distorted, like listening to a robotic cacophony. It's not exactly close either; he has to concentrate really hard. On second thoughts it's like he is under water. There's the tell-tale sound of water sloshing, all around him. 

Warmth. Warmth is the second thing he’s aware of. Actually scratch that. He's hot, he's way too hot, soaking wet hot. Stripping out of whatever he is wearing is a damn good idea. Stripping is not what happens. Why? He cannot move! That’s why. He has zero control over his limps. The arms attached to his body feel weird; they feel heavy, artificial even. His movements limited as if he's restrained. It should freak him out, it doesn't. He feels relaxed, blissfully and truly relaxed. Floating high above something, maybe even on something? Whatever it is, it's good. It’s really damn good. 

There’s also touch. There is definitely touch. _Down there_. Oh yeah! The _good_ kind of touch, the bucking your hips kind of touch and that's exactly that what he does, out of instinct and bless the heavens because _good_ just got a whole lot of _just right._  

On instinct, he wants to reach out and touch. Lace his fingers through hair. But whose hair? He doesn't remember.  Come to think of it, he doesn't remember anything. There is absolutely no memory of anything! Plus he’s arms aren’t co-operating. This would definitely be a reason for concern if there wouldn't be someone doing all kind of wonderful things to his manhood. 

"Hey”, he coos. “Hey, come up here for a second." Whatever comes out of his mouth is not that, _at all_! He has no idea what he just said. What the hell does "B'rok! B'rok al'il hsjuu a jaabaa sprczah" even mean? And what the fuck happened to his voice? He’s sounds like Mickey Mouse for fuck sake! 

It’s a fact: something’s off. There’s no going around it anymore. He’s two seconds away from going into a full freak out mode when he hears it: a voice. Weak and distorted yet positively a voice. He calls out again. Maybe he misheard. _He didn't_. Though he cannot make out the words, the voice that mumbles back is that of a man. And now, now he freaks out. A hell of a lot even. Someone is here with him. Unsure of whether to be relieved of alarmed they communicate; mumbling and humming back and forth. Questioning sounds. Angry sounds. Affirmative sounds. Reassuring sounds. They communicate. _They communicate_. 

Somewhere along the line, God knows how much time has passed already or how few marbles he’s away from losing his sanity altogether, he becomes aware that he can somewhat move his head and that his dick, the goddamn traitor, is still standing tall. Fear boners are the absolute worst. 

It's difficult, his head hurts - badly - but he moves anyway. Straining the muscles in his neck as much as he can to see, to look at something or someone or well whatever. At first nothing makes sense. Everything is blurred; shapes and colours all messed up, mixed up even. He shuts his eyes willing his brain to slow down. He breathes, more slowly than he would normally. In and out. In and out. Over and over. In and out and it works, it calms his nerves and his body, maybe now it’ll fucking work as it should. 

Pleading, urging sounds snap him out of everything. The vulnerability, the fear behind them a punch to his gut and he tries again, squints his eyes to gain more focus and that is when… 

Oh God! He _knows_ that ink! It's- It's….

What the hell is going on? They’re being held captive! The shock triggers bits and pieces to come back to him. A weekend of catching up after a summer filled with musical adventures for them both in some posh resort. Dudes-time with diet-free food, a decent amount of booze, hilarious moments watching porn bloopers on his laptop and some good pot one of them brought. He wrecks his brain trying to figure out when shit hit the fan. 

He looks again almost sure his brain is playing tricks on him. Sadly, it isn’t. There’s an IV looking thing attached to his arm, a fluorescent yellow fluid flowing into his vein. What’s worse, someone is going down on him too, maybe it’s the same who went down on him before and realizing that is the least of what shocks him. What roots him to the spot is who or is it _what_ is going down on him. It's … It's a- … It's big! Dark and massive and it lights up like a damn Christmas tree when its _head_ bobs down?!? Out of the back of said head a multitude of tentacles erupts for lack of a better work. Some stay relatively small, other grow exponentially. This can’t be right. He shakes his head, literally, trying to see through the fog. 

The thing, the Medusa from Hell looking alien speaks, sounding freakishly like the average human woman. “Tell me,” it/she purrs. “Tell me you want me. Tell me I can have you.” 

“No!!” he screams. “Get your filthy tentacles away from him! You cannot have him! He's his own not someone's property.” 

Medusa whooshes over to him, looking down on him, letting her tentacles roam over his body, curling some around his junk.  “Krh’ell!” she calls. “He cares for him. Can we play with them?” 

‘Krh’ell’, he learns, is the name of her partner. Krh’ell is also an exact copy of _Alien_ , the alien from the movie and it/he is fucking gigantic! Fear consumes him, provides him with a strength he never knew he had as he trashes onto whatever it is they have him restrained. His body moves when he commands it to move and that is a good because he is not going down without a fight. No. Fucking. Way. 

Alien crocks his head and _roars_ , showing of his ugly face almost knocking him out with an ammoniac laced breathe before injecting something in his leg. He’s out cold in seconds. 

Waking up the second time around is even worse. On top of the drug induced fog and physical pain he's as naked as the day he was born. He’s standing or is it being held up or even floating but naked in front of his friend. His friend, who's also naked, who now has an orange substance flowing into his veins and who, willingly or not, is sporting an angry looking erection. He doesn’t need to look at the colour of his own IV, his dick isn’t in a better state. 

He looks away, embarrassed over his own nakedness and out of respect for his friend. They’re being pushed - manhandled - towards each other, forcing their cockheads to touch. This should not, especially now, be this hot but it does, he can feel an almost electric current flowing in and out of his cock. “Sorry,” he utters, confused beyond belief. 

“Not your fault. Don't worry about it.” 

They stay like this for an undefined amount of time. Forced to look into each other’s eyes, both willing their respective erection to go away. Shockingly the opposite happens, both cocks leaking pre-cum, throbbing against one another, moving together as one. Out of the blue claws appear into his line of sight. A dark armour fold itself around his friend’s chest, claws going for his nipples. Around his own chest spikes appear. Spikes who themselves morph into tentacles, glowing freaking tentacles. What's more, they reach out, touching him, touching them both, coating with slime.  _Everywhere_ … 

“Don’t… Please don’t.” 

“I wish- I wish it was me touching you,” he admits blushing furiously, anything to take the fear out of his voice. “What?” the reply comes, his voice so soft as if he’s not even sure he heard it. 

“It’s true baby. I have wanted to do this for so long and I've been too afraid to do it. I was, hell I still am afraid that you'll push me away. Reject me and that because of that our friendship will be ruined. I don't want that,” he rushes out. “Our friendship means much more than me crushing on you.”? 

"Crushing? You want me?" 

"I do. God, I do." He's on a roll, might as well go all the way, right? 

"What would you do to me?" 

“I would,” he licks his lips, “I would kiss you hours on end because I cannot get enough of your lips. It’s driving me nuts we don't kiss anymore. I haven't forgotten how good it felt to kiss you night after night during Glam Nation or how you taste or how you used to moan when I bit your lower lip. I'd kiss you all over, baby. Your neck, your collar bones, your chest. I'd make love to you. Let you make love to me. I would be yours.” 

Tentacles morph into claws and claws morph into tentacles. Shockingly, the claws don't hurt when they run over his skin. If anything, they feel fake, rubber-like to the touch. 

"I'd let you. I'd let you do all that. I'd be yours, too." 

They’re pushed closer, full on touching, chest to chest, groin to groin. Their mouths crush together, all teeth and too much force, desperation and relief colliding into a perfect imperfect kiss. Down below, their cocks, too find each other taking a natural position one against another, cockhead against cockhead, shaft against shaft, moving in perfect unison. Neither men able to hold back vocalizing the pleasure that surges through their bodies. 

“You do not get to come,” Alien threatens, both aliens adjusting their grip on their bodies. “We’ll eliminate he who comes first.” Theoretically, this _should_  kill their hard-ons. Mind over body and all. In reality, their erections remain, throbbing in the same rhythm as their hearts.

They rut against each other not able to do anything else as they are controlled by their captors. It is not enough and at the same time it is _everything_ they need. The alien's slime acting similarly to a warning lube making everything that much more intense. He’s going to come from this, he’s so close already. Between two kisses it’s what he whispers into his companion’s ear and he’s told back he isn’t alone who’s close. “Can you wait for me? Come together?”

“I want that,” he confesses. Both men cease to exist, breathing together, moving together, losing themselves in the other.They’re blending together till they’re one body. One heart. One cock. One cock erupting with twin jets of white hot lava. Medusa’s furious, shouting something they do not need to understand to comprehend. “Makh ghull’moh Soh! Da’ah hegh gha’aba ji'oy pok’lj!” Love is its purest form is what he sees in his soulmate’s eyes as Alien’s claws slice his throat… 

He wakes up screaming, vocal chords ruined in the process, shirt soaked with sweat, briefs covered with cum, his heart rate alarmingly high. Freaked out of his mind, arms and legs flailing all over as he tries to sit up and get up and run all at the same time. Strong arms tighten their grip around him, causing him to freak out even more. A familiar voice makes its way through the chaos. “Wake up, baby. You’re safe. I promise. It’s a dream, just a bad dream, baby. You’re safe, I promise.” The words are repeated over and over, till he hears them, truly hears them. Till he recognizes the hands holding him, the arms holding him safe against a firm body and he manage to find his voice. “What-“ Jesus, where does he even begin? “What was that?” he asks eyes moist with unshed tears. The panic and the memories still too close to the surface.

“Viral infection. You’ve been delirious for over two days.”

“None of it was real?” He has to ask, feeling small be damned.

“No. You hallucinated.” The breath he lets out goes on forever. "Look at me, baby,” He does, shifts to meet the eyes of the man holding him, eyes burning with a fierceness, an emotion he never saw in them before. “I’m no fighter, but I swear to whoever the fuck you want me swear no alien, no matter how many claws or tentacles or whatever will _ever_ lay a hand on you. They’ll have to go through me first."

"How do you know-"

"You've been talking, actually screaming out loud for hours. Wanna know why I'd protect you?” He nods. He very much wants to know. “Because I love, too.”


End file.
